


no better way (than through your smell)

by emozionedapoco



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, But he isn't good with them, Caring! Geralt of Rivia, Character Study, First Kiss, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Introspection, Kinda, M/M, Scents & Smells, Slow Burn, but not so much, but not too much I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:20:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23620726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emozionedapoco/pseuds/emozionedapoco
Summary: During their training, witchers were taught a vast array of abilities, in addition to those they gained through their mutation. These included many different fighting techniques, lessons on how to prepare potions and elixirs, basic magic signs; however, the subject that had always interested Geralt the most had nothing to do with combat, and little to do with defense as well. From the very first weeks after his mutation process, Geralt had found himself focusing in particular on his newly heightened sense of smell. He could smell everything that surrounded him; he discovered that iron had the faintest smell of something very peculiar that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, and that blood brought to his nose something coppery and sharp that immediately alerted his mind. But it was not objects that enthralled him, as much as humans.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 190





	no better way (than through your smell)

**Author's Note:**

> alright, i don't actually know what this is. I completely ignored the timeline, Yennefer doesn't exist, and it's a l o t of introspection. English is not my first language and I wrote this ad 1AM so please be kind with me. also i associated random evocative images to various emotion's smell and there's no source for them other than my brain so really i don't know what this is but i actually kinda like it, especially because i got to work on a trope i particularly enjoy which is "being able to smell emotion through smell" that i've seen used in works both in this fandom and others and that i really like. anyway i'll stop rambling now, enjoy!

During their training, witchers were taught a vast array of abilities, in addition to those they gained through their mutation. These included many different fighting techniques, lessons on how to prepare potions and elixirs, basic magic signs; however, the subject that had always interested Geralt the most had nothing to do with combat, and little to do with defense as well. From the very first weeks after his mutation process, Geralt had found himself focusing in particular on his newly heightened sense of smell. He could smell everything that surrounded him; he discovered that iron had the faintest smell of something very peculiar that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, and that blood brought to his nose something coppery and sharp that immediately alerted his mind. But it was not objects that enthralled him, as much as humans. During one of his lessons, Vesemir had explained to him that witchers could usually smell the emotions that humans were, according to him, so tormented by. By then, Geralt had been told so many times that the mutation took the capability to feel away from him that the thought of being able to understand what humans were feeling simply by smelling them fascinated him. He had wanted to discover how every different emotion smelled like. He’d wanted to _know_ them through his nose.

Unfortunately, that was not that case. Once he started traveling and taking up contracts, he discovered that around him humans were only able to feel either fear or anger, sometimes both, and arousal every once in a while. During the first years he hadn’t understood that the reason behind this was himself. His naivety had still made him believe that there was some other reason- maybe he simply hadn’t met the right humans yet, maybe those emotions weren’t part of the population of that particular region. But no, the answer was plain and simple, and he had finally understood out of sheer resignation some years after he’d started his journey. Something he didn’t have an explanation for was the slight twist of something bitter in his hearth once he had finally understood; he didn’t dare give it a name, but it had felt similar to what Vesemir had once described as sadness.

That was mostly the reason he tended to stay away from towns or cities, and why, when the occasional stops became either necessary or unavoidable, he always tried not to spend too much time around. Yes, it was also because he was unwelcome most of the time. But it also hadn’t taken much for him to grow tired of the constant smell of those three, persistent emotions that followed him everywhere in went while staying in towns. Fear and anger smelled of something sour and nauseous, and even the sweet, honey-like perfume of arousal often became to heady for him to actually tolerate it. Geralt liked traveling alone for many reasons, practical and not, and this fell into the latter category; every time he exited a town or a village it was a relief to finally be free of the stench that seemed to attach to him like a second skin. 

And that’s why he became so accustomed to loneliness, even more than what would have been usual for a witcher. He was attached to it, maybe even liked it. Liked the way being lonely made him forget just how uncomfortable he was around humans, and just how much he would have liked not to be. And if sometimes the buried longing for company became just a bit too unbearable and he talked to Roach just to pretend he had someone, well, nobody had to know.

_Enter Jaskier._

And oh, what a marvel of nature that was Jaskier.

Geralt would have never admitted it, but he had never felt closer to a gasp than the first time Jaskier had approached him in that tavern. There was no hint of fear, or anger, or arousal in the smell that surrounded the bard while walking towards Geralt table. For the first time in his life, Geralt could smell something that came very close to what one could summarize as the perfume of spring - _excitement,_ a voice that sounded weirdly close to Vesemir’s provided him with in the back of his mind- for himself, firsthand, and not simply as a faraway hint of something past. From that very first moment, Jaskier had caught Geralt’s attention (and, if he was very honest with himself, which he admittedly rarely was, he’d never quite let it go).

Geralt had allowed Jaskier to follow him, that time, failing to extinguish the thrill of curiosity that had surged through him after that first sniff of air around the bard. He couldn’t quite explain why, or maybe he could and simply didn’t want to yet, but he wanted to experience the change that Jaskier brought with him while he could. At the time, he had no doubt that that excitement would eventually turn sour. It was inevitable, after all, and after so many years Geralt simply couldn’t imagine anything different. So he wasn’t surprised when he could smell fear on Jaskier during the encounter with the elves; he was baffled, however, when that fear vanished after being freed, when it didn’t turn into anger for putting him in danger.

And so, he allowed Jaskier to follow him again, and again, and again. He told himself it was just because he wanted to push the bard to his limit and finally feel that stench he was so accustomed to coming off of him in waves; he told himself he was waiting for Jaskier to leave on his own. Geralt didn’t dare think about the way he liked not being alone every night and avery day on the road, and he tried not to acknowledge how easier it was to spend time in towns with Jaskier casually walking next to him, pointing excitedly to whatever caught his attention. The stench was still there, constantly surrounding him, but it was bearable, and if he focused on Jaskier hard enough the experience could even be pleasurable; if anything, the happiness he could smell on Jaskier when they stepped into a tavern after spending days on the road made tolerating the stench _worth it_.

Geralt was right, after all. The fresh smell of amazement and excitement he’d been able to smell on Jaskier did turn into something else after some months; but it did not became what Geralt was expecting. Despite the danger of his contracts and the glares they got every goddamn time they entered a tavern or even just a town, Jaskier did not only not stop following him, but his initial emotions around Geralt turned into something that smelled dangerously close to fondness, to affection. The first time he had smelled the change on Jaskier he’d thought he was confused, that his nose had gotten it wrong. They had settled down deep in the woods for the night, and the bard had just started playing some kind of lullaby on his lute when a chord broke. Ignoring Jaskier’s complaints for the broken instrument, Geralt had retrieved a spare chord he kept in one of his bags and gave it to his companion. He could see the confusion on the bard’s face, but then he lit up and thanked Geralt with the softest tone he had ever heard him use. It was then that the wave of something like warm wood had hit him. It was new, and it was confusing, but it was good, almost reassuring. He told Jaskier to think nothing of it, that he’d simply bought it to avoid having to hear the bard bitching about his lute if it broke, and went to sleep pretending not to smell the way Jaskier didn’t believe him.

Almost a month later, Gerald grimaced particularly hard upon entering a tavern, the stench coming off in waves fro every single customer inside. Jaskier noticed, but he didn’t say anything for the duration of their meal. He did, however, ask Geralt about it once they retired in their room. He’d explained to the bard that he could smell their fear, their anger, and that it wasn’t good but it was bearable, but that that night it had been particularly strong.

The next time they entered a tavern, Jaskier immediately started singing every song he had written that involved the witcher. He usually didn’t sing those particular ballads, because Geralt didn’t feel entirely comfortable about them. But that night the bard hadn’t even given him the possibility to say anything in it, and so there he was, singing about Geralt’s bravery and whatnot. After a while, something changed in the air, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, until he sniffed. The stench wasn’t as strong as it was when they had entered the room. Now it was coming just from a handful of people on the other side of the tavern; the other customers smelled like acceptance, some of them even admiration. The smell was very light, barely a hint, but Geralt felt like somebody had just lifted a heavy blanket from all around him, and his shoulder straightened involuntarily. His eyes looked for Jaskier, then, and he saw the bard was already watching him, almost as if he had instantly noticed the change in his posture. He mouthed a thank you in his direction, and Jaskier nodded before going on with his performance. Geralt closed his eyes and allowed himself to simply smell, feeling free in a way he had never felt before.

After their second year together, it became clear Jaskier wasn’t going to leave.

There was not a single day where Geralt didn’t hear someone say that witchers didn’t have feelings. He’d never corrected them. They were right, after all, Vesemir had always told him so. Jaskier did, though, and he did so with such fervor that sometimes Geralt almost believed him. The smell of affection had turned into a deep, distinct smell of honey that held within itself not only lust but love, stronger and steadier that he’d ever smelled on anyone. It was so strong that not even a madman could have argued that Jaskier wasn’t in love with him. So many times Geralt had been on the verge of telling him that there was no hope he could return his feelings, that despite how many people he corrected he could never correct the truth, but he’d always stopped himself. The bard still followed him with the same excitement and happiness he had in the beginning, and Gerald didn’t dare break the hearth of the only person who’d never been scared of him. And besides, it would take more than a pair of hands to count the time Geralt had caught himself wishing Jaskier was right- wishing he could love just as much as he was loved. Jaskier deserved that, and much more, and he didn’t understand why he felt that way, but he just wanted to make the bard happy. He told himself it was just because happiness smelled amazing, but he always had the doubt it was simply because _Jaskier’s_ happiness did.

But witchers didn’t feel, didn’t they? So what’s the point.

( _Sometimes, at night, he would wonder why Jaskier followed him. Why he loved him. He didn’t understand, and he probably never would. How could someone love another so much without receiving anything in exchange? Jaskier would probably tell him that people don’t love in exchange for something, you thick witcher. Except they do, and I don’t know why you don’t. I don’t know why you love me. People don’t go around falling in love with witchers.)_

_(People don’t. But when had Jaskier ever been people?)_

Geralt carried on alongside Jaskier. If he couldn’t love him, he could protect him. He could let him stay with him, since it made him happy. He could buy spare strings for his lute and he could find the perfect tree branch for Jaskier’s doublet to dry on and he could give him his blanket when he was cold after the fire had blown out. He couldn’t love him, but he could care for him. And he did.

One day, around three years after their first meeting, Jasper had to leave for a period of time longer that the usual. They said goodbye with the promise to meet each other again as soon as possible. Usually, even after he left, Jaskier smell stayed around for a week or two, which was the most time they had spent separated since Geralt’s realization of Jaskier’s feelings, so there had yet to be a single day when he didn’t smell Jaskier feelings around him. Geralt dreaded the day the smell would fade, but it had almost been two weeks and that day was approaching fast. Except.

Except that one day Geralt woke still smelling rich honey in the air and, mind racing, realized it had almost been a month since he’d said goodbye to Jaskier.

At first he didn’t understand, and then. Then it it him.

_Oh._

_So Jaskier was right, after all._

_(When is he not?)_

A couple of months later, Geralt entered a tavern and saw Jaskier sitting at a table, on his own. He approached him. Jaskier watched him come towards him and he, oh, he was smiling like he did when he finally found the right rhyme to conclude a ballad and Gerald felt like his heart was about to burst out of all the love he felt for him and that he’d denied for so long. He sat in front of him and told him everything he had kept inside for all those years.

“Took you long enough, Geralt.”

Jaskier had always known him better than he did himself, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you liked it, again it probably doesn't make much sense but i really tried to convey geralt's struggle and wanted to make it tangible, in this particular case using the sense of smell. any feedback is greatly appreciated, thank you for reading my work! (also, endings are d i f f i c u l t. it's probably my least favorite part lol)


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